


name is a four letter word

by spookyfoot



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, if you look at the date you can see how well that worked out, katsuki yuuri's anxiety playlist, this was supposed to be for yuuri's bday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 10:30:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14018316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/pseuds/spookyfoot
Summary: Yuuri skims the list, face unacceptably composed. “They make some good points. After all, JJ’s base score was higher than mine. And PCS is subjective.”Victor turns and squints at the screen for dramatic effect. He’d prefer not to think about the fact he might need glasses soon. “I don’t even know who Jean Claude van Damme is!”Victor knows exactly who Jean Jacques Leroy is. He’d watched him climb his way to the top of juniors with an inverse proportion of athletic power and artistry. He was the type of skater who made Victor regret his own part in launching the Quad Arms Race. He was also the type of skater who would talk to Victor while ignoring Yuuri at the Rostelecom a year ago—not that Victor’s still annoyed or anything.(Nope. Not at all. Absolutely not.)Yuuri stares, head tilted down in disbelief. “He was on the podium with me this year.”“I’m drawing a blank.”“Bronze medal?”“Otabek won bronze though.”“No, JJ did.”“Are you sure? That doesn’t seem right.”“Vitya, he was on the podium with you last year.”“Not ringing any bells.”





	name is a four letter word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cafecliche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafecliche/gifts).



> A HUGE THANK YOU TO:  
> -cafecliche, since our conversation was the origin of this fic  
> -forochel for beta editing this way back in november and helping me get on the right path  
> -fullmetalchords for beta editing in january and suggesting ways to help me tie the emotional threads together.  
> -seventhstar for beta editing this fic when i first wrote it in november, again when i thought i had it right in january, and finally again last night and today.   
> -ofc lazulisong for The Chads...the men, the myths, the "who are you again?"'s 
> 
> true heroes, all of you.

Water breaks used to be Victor’s least favorite part of practices. He’d stand at the boards, hydrating and catching his breath as quickly as possible while his other rinkmates drew towards one another, forming tight knit clusters. Victor would smile and smile and sip his water and smile and update his social media on schedule and _smile_ , until he could go back to skating. But, as with most things in his life, Yuuri’s changed that too.

Some things, like the other skaters who train at Yubileyny, remain the same. Victor has each of them carefully categorized because it was one thing for him to be resented for his winning streak, it was another to forget their names.

So, on an unremarkable Tuesday, Victor says hello to Alexi while he and Yuuri walk to the locker room. Yuuri waves and pretends his Russian is far worse than it actually is.

“What was his name again?”

“Alexi. He asked us if we wanted to go to coffee last week.” Well, he’d actually asked Yuuri if he wanted to go to coffee. He’d ended up with Victor-and-Yuuri. Yuuri never seems to realize how much competition for his time there really is.

Yuuri makes a non-committal noise and starts to lace his skates. He frowns, unties them, and then laces them up again. After every run through, Yuuri’s face pinches into half hearted frowns, as though he doubts that whatever’s upsetting him is consequential enough to matter. And then he exhales a soft, disappointed sigh; each one cracks Victor’s heart like it’s set atop a fault line.

With uncharacteristic restraint Victor refrains from commenting on it until mid morning. Something’s different today. Yuuri fell on a triple axel, and he’d run through his step sequence only to immediately start skating figures from muscle memory alone. Which is why when Yuuri’s glued to his phone during their break _again_ —brow furrowed, the corners of his lips pinched downward _—_ Victor decides it’s time to take action.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, hooking his chin over Yuuri’s shoulder as he sits down next to him.

“Mmm?”

“What are you doing?” What Victor really means is _why are you upset? Are you ignoring me? Did I do something? Am I being Too Much?_

“Just…reading up on social media stuff,” he says.

“Like what?”

Yuuri’s phone screen immediately goes dark. “Oh. Nothing.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Yuuri sighs. “Someone posted a compilation of my old programs as an early birthday gift. I don’t know why they’d think anyone would want to watch those.”

“Because they’re beautiful!”

“Okay, if you say so.”

“They are! I remember all of your older programs, like your 2010 Junior Worlds Free Skate where you—"

Yuuri leans over to place a kiss on his cheek, and Victor hears the unmistakable snap of the camera.

“Yuuri—”

“For Instagram. I haven’t updated in a while.”

Victor beams, even though he _knows_ he’s being manipulated. Yuuri is so cute. “Yuuri! I’m so proud!” He has to text Phichit. Right after he helps Yuuri choose a filter.  

(Phichit gave him his number in China, and since then their text messages have consisted of debates over the best laces for skates, moaning over Yuuri’s continued insistence he doesn’t have fans, best skater reaction gifs, _Ikemen desu ne—_ a series Victor watched during his first summer coaching Yuuri to improve his Japanese and also maybe to have a pretext to cuddle with Yuuri—and how Victor’s tried that “glasses as an easy disguise” thing and it’s _never worked_.)

Phichit responds to Victor’s text with a stream of exclamation points and confetti ball emojis, as well as a gif of Victor’s own face happy crying.

Victor sends back a bunch of dog emojis, raised hand emojis, and party poppers.

_how’s the operation cakesudon planning_

Phichit sends back a bunch of knife emojis.

_really, that well?_

_what gave it away_

_celestino doesn’t want to let me stay after the competition but i have my ways_

Victor starts typing “what ways,” and pauses, realizing that there are things he’s probably better off not knowing.

_do you think yuuri knows?_

_yuuri thinks most ppl don’t even remember his bday_

Victor frowns. How could Yuuri think that? Even _Yurio_ gave him a birthday present last year. His phone buzzes again. Twice.

 _also can u sent me_ _natasha’s #? i have ?’s about managing ice shows_

Victor’s phone buzzes again before he has a chance to respond.

_if you send me that i’ll send u pics of yuuri riding a mechanical bull_

Victor would have sent it anyway, but it’s not like he’s going to _refuse_ this kind of opportunity.

In the wake of the photos, Victor forgets to push Yuuri about what he’s hiding. Instead, he’s fixated by the photos on his own screen. Yuuri, shirtless, flushed, and glistening with sweat, his thighs gripping the mechanical bull like a vise. Phichit is a gift. This is a great day.

_______________________________________________________

This is a terrible day. Yuuri went back to their apartment earlier than Victor and so not only did Victor have to walk home _alone,_ he also had to shower _alone_ , because Yuuri was out walking Makkachin. Victor tries to ignore how empty his apartment feels without either of them. He snags Yuuri’s favorite blanket—blue with tiny cartoon poodles—and wraps himself in in it.

He spends some time working on Yuuri’s birthday present. A few months after he’d moved into Victor’s apartment, Yuuri’d confessed some of his elaborate high school fantasies. Some were incredibly earnest—(“We’d meet at a competition and I’d win gold and you’d look up at me on the podium and tell me my skating was beautiful,” Yuuri had muttered against Victor’s collarbone. “Then the next time we met, you remembered my name and told me you couldn’t wait to watch my programs in person.”)—and others, well, for Yuuri’s birthday, Victor’s going to make at least one of them come true. He’s working out their character backstories, and trying to find a plausible exchange student program. Then he logs onto his quadsudon87 Golden Skate account and it—somehow—gets even worse.

Someone with the username _jjsmomhasgotitgoingon_ has posted a ninety five point manifesto refuting every argument that Victor’s ever made defending Yuuri’s skating. How could they be Victor’s fan and cheer for that a skater who’s more sentient poutine than person? How can someone call themselves _his_ fan and then treat Yuuri like this? He reports them and then starts with point number one.

(Someone—Victor suspects Phichit, who he _knows_ has his own side account–had sent Yuuri one of Victor’s posts. Yuuri had read through it, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“Yuuri?”

“Phichit sent me a thing...just...here,” he said, shoving his phone at Victor.   

Then Yuuri covers his face with his hands with the lightning fast reflexes born from twenty four years of having an older sibling.

Victor’s a little glad Yuuri can’t see his face. He’s let Yuuri in so thoroughly that at times he finds it hard to put those old defenses back into place, to reassemble the layers of artifice that Yuuri’s carved away.

And he’s sure the face he’s wearing right now screams “guilty” in flashing neon lights.

“These all seem like sound arguments to me. I especially like number thirty nine because you do, objectively, have both the best step sequences and the best ass in figure skating. Not to mention number fifty four, about your _Scheherazade_ program—”

“Please stop,” Yuuri whines from between his fingers.

The kettle whistles from the stove and Yuuri mumbles something that sounds like, “it’s not like my routine was that memorable that year anyways.”

Victor goes over to turn off the stove and pour the hot water into mugs. When he returns, he kisses the top of Yuuri’s head, before settling on the couch and handing Yuuri his— tragically jam-less—tea. “You’ll have to take that up with quadsudon87 and all the other posters that agreed with m— _them_. Actually, I think Minami mentioned it was one of his favorites when we saw him at Four Continents last year.”

(Some part of Victor believes that if he keeps telling Yuuri how wonderful he is, someday Yuuri will believe it as much as Victor does. He refuses to stop trying until he proves himself correct.)

And now he’s been called to action again.

Victor’s still typing furiously when the door to their apartment swings open to reveal a slightly snow damp Makkachin, and Yuuri, the tip of his nose flushed red from the cold and begging Victor to warm it up with a kiss.

“Vitya? What’s…” Yuuri makes a vague motion with his hand before unraveling his—Victor’s—scarf from where it’s looped around his neck.

Hearing Yuuri call him Vitya momentarily soothes his rage. But only momentarily.

“Someone on the internet is _wrong_.”

Yuuri makes a noise that months of close contact, careful observation, and well-meaning fuck-ups have taught Victor means _really?_

“Someone on the internet is always wrong,” Yuuri says. He wanders over to the couch and settles in next to Victor. Makkachin chooses this moment to strike and sprawl across both their laps.

(Double the pets and scratches. That genius. Then again, he does have a diploma from a _totally real_ online university. World’s Smartest Goodest Most Immortal-est Dog.)

“ _Yuuri_ ,” Victor whines. Makkachin’s soft fur is soothing beneath his fingers. Someone on the internet is wrong about _Yuuri,_ which is different from just having your facts wrong. This is like asserting that there’s no gravity and that the entire concept arose from a scientist trying to explain why apples hated him personally.

Yuuri turns to face him, and Victor’s momentarily distracted by the way Yuuri’s eyelashes kiss the soft curve of his cheek. “Do you want to tell me?” Yuuri asks.

Victor wants to tell Yuuri everything. He’s the first person that’s made Victor feel like every fleeting thought that dances through his head _matters_. But Victor doesn’t want to explain why he’s got a secret Golden Skate account. So he’ll blur the truth. Just a little. It’s a small sacrifice in the larger war versus Yuuri’s anxiety.  

“Someone on twitter sent me this post,” he says, swiftly opening a browser window with his _other_ Golden Skate account. The official one.

Yuuri skims the list, face unacceptably composed. “They make some good points. After all, JJ’s base score was higher than mine. And PCS is subjective.”

Victor turns and squints at the screen for dramatic effect. He’d prefer not to think about the fact he might need glasses soon. “I don’t even know who Jean Claude van Damme is!”

Victor knows exactly who Jean Jacques Leroy is. He’d watched him climb his way to the top of juniors with an inverse proportion of athletic power and artistry. He was the type of skater who made Victor regret his own part in launching the Quad Arms Race. He was also the type of skater who would talk to Victor while ignoring Yuuri at the Rostelecom a year ago—not that Victor’s still annoyed or anything.

(Nope. Not at all. Absolutely not.)

Yuuri stares, head tilted down in disbelief. “He was on the podium with me this year.”

“I’m drawing a blank.”

“Bronze medal?”

“Otabek won bronze though.”  

“No, JJ did.”

“Are you sure? That doesn’t seem right.”

“Vitya, he was on the podium with _you_ last year.”

“Not ringing any bells.” Victor exaggeratedly taps a finger again his lips. He takes Yuuri’s empty mug and sets it on the table before wrapping his arms around Yuuri to pull him closer. He hides his smirk in the soft skin at the nape of Yuuri’s neck. “The only thing I really remember about last year was you. Our dance at the banquet. Missing you at Worlds.”

“We were invited to his wedding!”

“We get so much mail…”

“ _Vitya.”_

_“Yuuri.”_

“You _have_ to know who JJ is. At least because of the tramp stamp,” Yuuri says, burrowing into Victor’s chest.

Victor frowns and pulls back. “How do you know he has a tramp stamp?”

_______________________________________________________

Victor unfortunately (re)meets Jacques Cousteau at Rostelecom. Making up alternative names for JJ is far more entertaining than enduring his actual presence. Besides he has more important things to focus on, like preparing Yuuri’s hair before his free skate, making sure Yuuri’s lips aren’t chapped, and the very short amount of time left before it’s officially Yuuri’s birthday.

While Victor takes short break from running through his free skate to watch Yuuri run through his, someone claps him on the shoulder.

“Victor! Around for another year, eh?”

“It appears so.” Victor squints. JJ looks like a depressingly heterosexual Ken doll and his routines are just as manufactured as his tan.

“Couldn’t resist the thought of competing against the king?”

“We have a king? I wasn’t aware figure skating was a monarchy.”

“We know who’d be at the top if there was though.”

“Well it certainly wouldn’t be—”

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, skidding to a halt. His face is flushed and there’s a bead of sweat sliding down the curve of his throat. “Hi, JJ.”

“Yes, darling?”

Yuuri’s flush flares a deeper shade of red. “JJ’s performance at Skate America was very impressive, don’t you think?”

Tauqueray’s routine has four quads, zero finesse, and no surprises. Out loud he says, “Very powerful jumps.”

“And three different kinds of quads.”

“We’re looking forward to seeing it in person,” Yuuri, says. He turns to Victor flushed and far too tempting, “come help me with the flip?”

As if Victor could resist.

“Of course. Bye—” Victor starts and then stops because he really wants to call him LL Cool J. “Bye,” he repeats. Surely no one noticed. The adorable little wrinkle between Yuuri’s eyebrows says he noticed. Oops.

Victor tosses Joe Jonas a small wave before sliding his skate guards off and following Yuuri out onto the ice.

The wrinkle doesn’t go away. Victor tries more and more elaborate methods of cheering Yuuri up, but it only seems to deepen the furrow from crevice to canyon, and Yuuri starts flubbing his jumps.

As he skates off first to retrieve Yuuri’s skate guards, Victor know he’s fucked up. He just doesn’t know how to fix it.

_______________________________________________________

The locker room before the men's free skate programs is a cesspit of figure skating gossip. Yuuri seems to have perked up enough that he lets Victor play with his hair and apply extra dramatic makeup for Yuuri’s birthday.

“I used to do Yuuri’s makeup when we went out in Detroit,” Phichit says. His makeup is finished and flawless, and his trademark winged eyeliner is sharp enough to kill a man.

“I could guess from the photos.”

“Photos?” Yuuri shifts, attempting to raise his head.

“Eyes closed, _Yuuri_.” Victor’s called Yuuri any number of pet names, but none of them is sweeter than the taste of Yuuri’s name rolling off his tongue.

Yuuri shoots him A Look before he sighs and closes his eyes. Victor’s not done yet. Also if years of press have taught him anything it’s the art of deflection.

“The ones from Rowdy Randy’s. With the mechanical bull.”

Yuuri groans. Victor tries not to think about riding or Yuuri groaning  in an entirely different context.

“That was the night JJ got his tramp stamp,” Phichit finishes.

“JJ?” Victor asks. Victor’s taken to calling him John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith. He even had a song about him. Was that—

“Vitya. We’ve talked about this.”

“We’ve talked about a lot of things!”

“It's not a difficult name,” Yuuri says, frowning.

“I guess. It just seems like a lot of effort. Somehow.”

The furrow between Yuuri’s brows is back—with a vengeance. Victor tries to hide his panic with nonchalance. He thinks of more pleasant things, like Yuuri’s cute little earlobes, making a deal with the devil so Makkachin can live forever, and getting Yuuri to smile again.

(He’ll have to ask Lilia about the second one.)

"It's...two letters."

"It's a lot of emotional effort, Yuuri. I’m spending that on other more things. Important things. It takes me more emotional effort to remember Jean-Jacob Jingleheimer Smith’s name than to deal with Yurio.”

"You just said his name. _I_ just said his name. I know you know it.” Yuuri presses his lips together and unsuccessfully tries to run a hand through his hair. It gets caught in the vast quantities of gel holding it in place.

"No, darling, I'm afraid it's gone. Like a leaf on the wind,” Victor says, keeping his tone light; he’s treading on unsteady ground and has no idea how to prevent it from cracking beneath his feet.

“ _Victor_.”

“Oh, would you look at that, it’s time for us to go somewhere quiet before you skate.”

Yuuri allows Victor to slide an arm around his waist and pull him close, but he doesn’t fully relax in Victor’s arms.

_______________________________________________________

The tension in Yuuri’s body seems to have dissipated the next day when they’re in their room, getting ready for the banquet. Instead he has the same look of determination that he had before going out to skate a nearly perfect free program and just beat Victor to gold.

Victor doesn’t have much time to think about _why_ before Yuuri asks “Victor, could you get that for me?”

A little frown burrows its way onto Victor’s face, but he hands Yuuri his tie anyway.

(A new one. They’ve reserved the other one for the bedroom.)

Yuuri drags his feet on the way to the elevator and asks, “Can you hold the doors for me, Victor?”

When they arrive at the banquet, he looks around, points and says, “Would you get me a drink, Victor?”

As they talk to a sponsor, Yuuri talks about how beautiful _Victor’_ s routines are this season and how he’s so proud of _Victor_ for balancing coaching and competing and how wonderful training at _Victor’_ s home rink is.

Something itches just under Victor’s skin. It’s not until Yuuri asks, “Victor, what time do you want to leave the banquet?” that Victor realizes what it is.

Yuuri hasn’t called him Vitya all night.

Eventually, Victor’s waylaid by a few long time sponsors to talk about Yubileyny’s facilities, and Victor smiles and smiles and smiles.

By the time Victor finally catches up with Yuuri, he’s talking with Phichit and Chris, laughing at a joke that Victor had been too far away to hear.

“Yuuri,” Victor says with a pout that’s far more real than play. He wraps one of his arms around Yuuri’s waist and drops a kiss on his cheek.

“Victor,” Yuuri says, partially settling into Victor’s embrace. He leaves some distance between them. Victor frowns.

“Yuuri?”

“Mmm?” Yuuri’s nodding along to Phichit’s story about the first time Celestino tried a Thai bird chili.

“Celestino makes me take a bite of whatever food I give him now,” Phichit says.

(Victor makes a mental note to do the same the next time he and Yuuri visit Phichit in Bangkok.)

It’s a long time before Victor can redirect the conversation. And he doesn’t do it as smoothly as he’d like.

“Yuuri, why have you been calling me Victor instead of Vitya?”

Yuuri turns, looking far too innocent. “Is something wrong? That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“…I asked you to call me Vitya…” Victor flushes.

"I'm really sorry, Victor, I know it's only a couple letters, but I just can't seem to remember them?”

“Yuuri,” Victor whines.

Yuuri pats him on the shoulder, flushed. He bites his lip and seems to steel himself. ”I know, _Victor_. This is really embarrassing.”

Victor looks at Phichit, who’s failing to hold back his laughter. "Did you know Yuuri was this evil?”

Phichit wipes a tear from his eye. “Absolutely.”

Yuuri glares at Phichit. “That means nothing coming from you. I still remember when Celestino made us watch terrible drivers ed videos for two months because you stole his car.”

“— _Borrowed_. I borrowed his car. JJ was one hundred percent right about timbits.”

“Who?” Victor asks desperately.

“ _Victor_.” Yuuri’s mouth is pinched. He’s disentangled himself from Victor’s arms completely and the heat of his body flees with him.

“Wow, you two really are perfect for each other,” Phichit cackles.

Yuuri frowns., “What?”

Ignoring him, Phichit leans in closer to Victor like he’s confiding a secret. Except he doesn’t whisper. At all. “Victor, let me tell you a little story about eleven Chads, none of whom were actually named Chad.”

“Phichit,  _no.”_

 _“_ Phichit _, yes!”_ Victor says.

 _“_ Yuuri, come on. You’ve done the exact same thing. An entire hockey team with the same name? Really? _”_

Yuuri, stares helplessly. He bites his lip. “Not even one Chad?”

Phichit just looks at him.

“Statistically there had to be a Chad in there. Somewhere.”

“Brayden, Jayden, Tyler, Jared, Jarrett, Jonathan, Jamie, Jeff, Mike, Hayden, and Eric,” Phichit recites. It sounds like he's practiced for this.

“But everyone in the lacrosse frat answered to Chad!”

“Yuuri. No,” Phichit says. “Did you honestly think they were all named Chad?”

“I mean…only a little? But Americans are weird. They go up to random strangers and just start talking to them. And they all answered to Chad so...”

Victor rubs soothing circles on Yuuri’s back. “It’s okay, darling. Names can be so hard to remember. Don’t worry, I love you anyways.”

“This is totally different,” Yuuri says, shrugging off Victor’s hand.

“Oh?” Victor presses his index finger against his lips to hid his frown. And because he’s never been good at stopping when he should, he keeps pressing. “How so?”

“We were in different sports!” Yuuri pulls away, crossing his arms over his chest.

He looks more upset than angry, but Victor keeps pushing. “You shared a rink, Yuuri. You must have seen them a lot more than I’ve ever seen this...Chad Michael Murray.”

“His name is JJ! You’ve competed against him! We talked to him yesterday!”

  
“Yuuri—” _Why is he so upset about this?_

“God, Victor, he’s right there!” Yuuri says, pointing at Alain and Natalie Leroy. They’re talking to a sponsor with Isabella Yang and Morgan LeFay. _He looks like an extra in a low budget 80’s action film_ , Victor thinks.

“Oh. _Him_. Alain and Natalie’s son.”

“Oh my god. _Really_?”

Victor shrugs. “Alain and Natalie were memorable. They had good edges and artistry.”

“ _Wow,_ ” Phichit says, gleefully. “Savage.”

“Unbelievable,” Yuuri says, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

Victor frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been competing against him for years. He won bronze last year. I know you know who JJ is.”

Victor looks for Phichit but he’s already slid away to join Chris elsewhere.

(Victor can’t really blame him.)

Yuuri shrugs, but it’s more like his shoulders just slump in maudlin acceptance. “I mean, JJ’s TES base score’s usually pretty high. How could you not remember him?”

Victor doesn’t want to talk about this here. Not with all the other people milling around, waiting for something to talk about. Not when Yuuri’s birthday is so close that it’s only hours away.

“Let’s talk about this somewhere else,” Victor says. Yuuri looks like he wants to argue, but nods and Victor leads them out into the hall. He finds a quiet, empty conference room and pulls Yuuri inside. Yuuri pulls away from him and sits down on the long wooden table.

“Well?”

Oh. Right. JJ.

Victor shrugs. “I’ve had more important concerns.”

“More important than your competition?”

“ _JJ_ ’s not my competition. You are.”

“You do know his name, so why all of...this?”

Victor steps closer. Yuuri’s breathing has sped up and his fists are clenched at his sides. Victor takes one of Yuuri’s hands and pries it open to release the tension. He laces their fingers together. Yuuri’s hand twitches in his, but he doesn’t pull it away.

“His name’s his whole... _Thing_ ,” Victor says, face twisted like he’s just bitten into something sour. “He ignored you last year. And he dismissed you again this year. If he’s not—if he keeps putting you down to make himself look better...why should I respect him?”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, exhaling the word with a huge rush of air. He inches in a little closer, twisting his hands.

“Can you tell me why it upsets you so much?” Victor murmurs.

Yuuri looks up at him in disbelief. “You know why.”

“What are you—”

Oh.

(“ _We’d meet at a competition and I’d win gold and you’d look up at me on the podium and tell me my skating was beautiful,” Yuuri had muttered against Victor’s collarbone. “Then the next time we met, you remembered my name and told me you couldn’t wait to watch my programs in person."_ )

“You wanted me to remember you.”

“I’ve always wanted—and then when you couldn’t—if the banquet didn’t happen, how would you even remember me? And I know that’s not—that it’s just a what if,” Yuuri says, looking down at his hands. The next words come out in a whisper as though Yuuri’s afraid to say them at all, “But I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Victor steps a little closer, and then steps in again when Yuuri doesn’t shrink away. He lifts Yuuri’s chin with his finger so that Yuuri has to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. I just thought that maybe if you saw who I considered actual competition, you might get a little closer to loving yourself the way I love you.”

“You could just tell me that.”

“I have. It doesn’t go very well,” Victor says.

Yuuri hits him on the arm, but leans in and burrows his fingers into Victor’s shirt. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  
“ _Yuuri_.”

Yuuri doesn’t respond but he goes pliant in Victor’s arms. His breathing slows down as Victor traces mindless patterns on his back. Victor’s not sure how long they stay like that.

“Yuuri?”

“Mmmm”

“Are you sleeping?”

“No,” Yuuri mutters. He looks up at Victor, eyes half lidded and one hundred percent drowsy and adorable.

“We should go back to the room before you are, then.”

He doesn’t let Yuuri go even as they make their way to the elevator. Yuuri’s head keeps listing sideways and falling onto Victor’s shoulder.

“Not yet, sweetheart.”

When they finally get to their room, they go through the familiar motions of getting ready for bed, and slide under the covers and into one another’s arms.

“I think I might have ruined your birthday.”

“S’not my birthday yet,” Yuuri says, his head pillowed on Victor’s chest.

Victor glances over at the clock. 11:59.

“One more minute.”

“And you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t ruin it.”

The clock strikes twelve. “Happy birthday, darling. If I had a candle, you could make a wish.”

“Don’t need it.”

“Hmm?”

“What would I even wish for?”

_______________________________________________________

[ _photo: Victor and Yuuri with their arms around one another, a large chocolate cake with twenty five candles sits in front of them._ ]

 **v-nikiforov** : some things are unforgettable.

**Author's Note:**

> other notes: none of my WIPs are abandoned, i'm just in my last year of university at the moment and dying a little more every day. but chapter 4 of paris is...65% written and i've got break downs for the other four. i'm currently on spring break and doing my best to get stuff written (except spring break is a lie and i still had two papers due). 
> 
> my other goal is to get to the comments in my inbox. i'm a mess but i really do appreciate all of them! <3
> 
> i caved to #brandcontinuity so i'm now [ spookyfoot on tumblr too](http://spookyfoot.tumblr.com)


End file.
